Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Medical care -- Anecdotes; Ship physicians -- Great Britain -- Anecdotes
"Oh-h-h!" he cried, "they may call us so; but--born in England--bred in
London--neighbourhood of Bond Street, highly respectable locality. Army
and Navy outfitters, my father and me, you see, he! he! We invite
inspection, give satisfaction, and defy competition, you see, he! he!"
And he glided silently down stairs, giving me scarcely time to observe
that he was a young man with black hair, black eyes and whiskers, and
wearing goloshes.
I soon after went down to breakfast, wondering, as I well might, how my
feline friend had found out all about my affairs; but it was not till I
had eaten ninety and one breakfasts and a corresponding number of
dinners that I discovered he belonged to a class of fellows who live by
fleecing the poor victims they pretend to clothe. Intending candidates,
beware of the Jews!
Tuesday came round at last, just as Tuesdays have always been in the
habit of doing, and at eleven o'clock precisely I, with my heart playing
a game of cricket, with my spine for the bat and my ribs for the wicket,
"repaired"--a very different mode of progression from any other with
which I am acquainted--to the medical department of Somerset House. I
do not remember ever having entered any place with feelings of greater
solemnity. I was astonished in no small degree at the people who passed
along the Strand for appearing so disgustingly indifferent,--
"And I so weerie fu' o' care."
Had I been going to stand my trial for manslaughter or cattle-lifting, I
am certain I should have felt supremely happy in comparison. I passed
the frowning gateway, traversed the large square, and crossed the
Rubicon by entering the great centre doorway and inquiring my way to the
examination room. I had previously, be it observed, sent in my medical
and surgical degrees, with all my class tickets and certificates,
including that for virtue. I was now directed up a great many long
stairs, along as many gloomy-looking corridors, in which I lost my way
at least half a dozen times, and had to call at a corresponding number
of green-baize-covered brass tacketed doors, in order to be put right,
before I at length found myself in front of the proper one, at which I
knocked once, twice, and even thrice, without in any way affecting or
diminishing the buzz that was going on behind the door; so I pushed it
open, and boldly entered. I now found myself in the midst of a large
and select assortment of clerks, whose tongues were hard at work if
their pens were not, and who did not seem half so much astonished at
seeing me there as I felt at finding myself. The room itself looked
like an hypertrophied law office, of which the principal features were
papers and presses, three-legged stools, calf-bound folios, and cobwebs.
I stood for a considerable time, observing but unobserved, wondering
all the while what to say, how to say it, and whom to say it to, and
resisting an inclination to put my finger in my mouth. Moreover, at
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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